In Light of New Hope
by billionsofblue
Summary: "Ah," she interjected lightly, "but you are a knight, and I am a-" "Princess," he warned, as he felt her lips brush his jaw. They had meandered to the edge of the dance floor, where the crowd was thin and scarcely anyone noted their presence. (Post-BvS, where Bruce and Diana navigate the beginnings of their relationship)
The first time Bruce saw her, he could have sworn his heart stopped. She was a vision to behold, her shapely form clad in a red number that warmed him several degrees. Their gazes connected, and he felt a jolt run through him so suddenly he had to pause in his tracks. When he looked up, she had turned away, and he was accosted by Luthor.

In retrospect, he should have known there was something not quite right about her. Bruce Wayne was no stranger to beautiful women, and he had never been struck dumb by one. Not until her.

The second time Diana saw him, she allowed him to pull her close. Sandalwood and musk tantalized her senses as his rumbling baritone vibrated through her body. It was entrancing, even as his tone was accusatory, and she pulled away before his warmth could seep into hers.

"Oh I don't think you've ever known a woman like me," Diana smiled, but there was nothing flirtatious or mocking in it. She was simply amused.

This man was presumptuous, and normally she detested that quality in a person, but for some unfathomable reason she liked him. She hardly knew him and she liked him. It had never occurred to her before, not even with Steve. She supposed there was a first for everything.

The next time they met at a glitzy event was a few months after the defeat of Doomsday. It was also Gotham's biggest night of the year: the annual Summer Social Gala. Over the years it had become something of an international event, and the upper class elite flocked to the Excelsior Plaza downtown to schmooze and booze their way through the night. Without the pretense of charity events or social causes to champion, they were even more obnoxious and unchecked in their excesses.

Bruce had arrived early, without a date on hand. He had Alfred scan the guest list hoping desperately (and secretly) for one name in particular, but he hadn't fooled the cunning old man, who gave him a pointed look when he asked if there was "anyone of note" that had been invited.

"Her Royal Highness is on the list," Alfred had replied, and Bruce didn't need to ask which 'royal highness' he was referring to, despite the fact that aristocrats numbered in the hundreds at the gala. He only wished he could wipe that god-damned smirk off the butler's face.

He didn't need to wait long for some rich fop to approach him; Bruce Wayne never lacked for company in social events. As he stood amongst a gaggle of simpering society matrons and their aged husbands with roving eyes, he found it more difficult than usual to act the playboy.

When the night wore on, his patience thinned, and he became sullen enough that even the most eager of society ladies refused to approach him. At five past midnight, he was about to abandon the hope that she would show up at all, when there erupted a sudden loud clamouring in the entrance hall.

Even at a distance, Bruce could make out the name they were shouting.

"Wonder Woman!" "Wonder Woman, over here! Look here!" "Who are you wearing tonight?" "Do you have a date?" "Wonder Woman, why are you late?"

In the next moment, she had swept into the room in a billowing gown the colour of the night sky. The gown sparkled subtly, and Bruce forgot to breathe for several heartbeats. He watched as she smiled politely at the admirers who had immediately propositioned her, and he grabbed a coupe of champagne off a passing waiter in fear of stuffing his hands into his pockets, as he was wont to do when he felt particularly awkward or nervous. Everyone else would have assumed that such feelings were foreign to Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy and egotist, but _she_ would have known, and she would have teased him for it - gently, always gently, with that smile that made her eyes even brighter than usual...he felt a smile of his own overcome his expression, and when he came to his senses he realized that she had spotted him, and was heading straight in his direction.

He barely had time to brace himself, and so the first thing he blurted when she was within hearing distance was, "champagne?" He offered her his glass dumbly (the same glass he had just subconsciously sipped from), then immediately cringed when he realized how much like a fool he was acting. Fortunately, Diana laughed softly and accepted it.

"I thought you didn't drink at these things," she said, peering into the glass as though its contents were unique.

"It's just Moët. And I don't," he hastily replied, then realized she had seen him take that sip, and quickly backtracked again. "I mean, I usually don't. But I was - thirsty," he tried to explain, but Diana was giving him such a strange look that he immediately stopped.

From his peripheral vision he noticed that several others were encroaching on their space, hoping to get Diana's attention, but he sent all of them a fierce glare, and they quickly diverted their attentions elsewhere.

"Bruce," she called, and he immediately returned his gaze to her, "ask me to dance."

He looked at her blankly, seemed to war with himself internally for several moments, then held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

Diana's answering smile was brilliant.

"I haven't seen you in awhile," Bruce said, as they glided across the dance floor elegantly.

"We see each other once a week," Diana laughed. Bruce distantly noted how it was as clear as a peal of bells, and realized how all clichés turned genuine when applied to her.

He extended his arm as she twirled, the hem of her gown swishing around her ankles, and then he drew her close against him again, her back to his chest. "It seems much longer than that."

"Then you might want to work on your memory, Mr Wayne," she quipped, and having a better view of the room in her new position, noted the curious (and sometimes hostile) gazes directed at her by other women. "Where is your date for tonight?"

"She left. Apparently I wasn't...stimulating enough company. Something else I need to work on, perhaps?"

"I don't need my lasso to know when you are lying," she reminded, and his arms tensed slightly around her.

"Why were you late?" He demanded, hoping to divert their conversation elsewhere.

"There were some issues I had to resolve at the Embassy...a fully-fledged Amazonian nation coming into contact with Man's World isn't something that happens everyday...were you waiting for me?" Her tone was distinctly smug.

Bruce wisely kept silent, and Diana spun around to face him. She searched his face, then grinned. "Normally, people just ask."

"Ask what?" He bit out.

"For a date, Bruce. You might be used to a rotating roster of on-duty girlfriends, but surely this concept isn't foreign to you? It is, I think, quite similar to the courtly love traditions that developed in the late medieval era."

He made a noise of amusement at her words. "You might be over-crediting the modern rituals, Diana. Sending out a text message for an illicit liaison can hardly be compared to composing sonnets."

"So the means differ, but at their core, are they not the same? Love, admiration, yearning. And perhaps more realistically - sex, passion and desire."

"Yes. I will send you a text the next time, then."

"Oh, so there _is_ going to be a next time?" Diana's eyes sparkled with mirth as she drew him out into playful conversation, and Bruce smirked. "If you want there to be."

"But what if I prefer to be courted the conventional way?"

"Well then, you might find yourself disappointed. I am no troubadour," Bruce smiled, and Diana pressed herself ever closer to him.

"Ah," she interjected lightly, "but you _are_ a knight, and I am a-" "Princess," he warned, as he felt her lips brush his jaw. An accompanying frisson of delight and pleasure raced through him at her touch. They had meandered to the edge of the dance floor, where the crowd was thin and scarcely anyone noted their presence.

"Right," Diana murmured, but she did not press his limits any further, and he was grateful. He could never say no - not to her.

The music had stopped, and she moved away from him, towards the wide balcony that bordered the grand ballroom. He missed her warmth immediately. She had turned away from him, and was looking up at the full moon with a wistful expression on her face.

"Diana," he started, then stopped, at a loss for words.

They had been working together closely for a few months as colleagues, arranging weekly meetings to track down the remaining meta-humans to form a team, and he couldn't deny that whatever it was that was burgeoning between them, it was definitely something more than friendship. But his heady and often overwhelming feelings for her had potential to turn into a threat, and he couldn't commit to anything - not so quickly, not without fully exploring the extent of this intense _want_ that he felt whenever she was near. It was irrational, it made him feel like a socially inept youth all over again, and it...it _terrified_ him.

There were so many reasons why they should never go down this path they were inevitably hurtling towards, the biggest of all the fact that they were about to create a professional team together. They had been engaged in a back-and-forth fencing match since day one, and the patterns were the same. They would talk, flirt, he would recuse himself from the situation when it became too much, and Diana would respect his boundaries.

He knew how unfair it was to her, and he hated himself for it. Soon. He would tell her soon, and they would work things out...

"Diana," he tried again, and she turned to face him.

With the glistening moonlight illuminating her silhouette, she truly looked like the demi-goddess that she was. He approached her slowly and reverently.

"Two weeks from now, there will be a charity auction. Come with me," he urged.

"No texts or sonnets, then?" Diana smiled ruefully.

"No. Just me."

"Just you," Diana hummed, seemingly finding a different understanding in those words. She looked to the skies again, then suddenly announced, "I must go."

Before she could slip past him, he grasped her wrist. "Princess, the auction?"

"We have a meeting tomorrow," she reminded, and Bruce nodded. He was well-aware. "You will get your answer then."

"This is punishment, isn't it?" Bruce sighed, and Diana cocked her head at him, the beginnings of laughter clear in her voice.

"Call it an exercise in delayed gratification. I really must return to the Embassy now, my Mother and her Generals will be waiting."

Bruce was perplexed for a moment - hadn't she _just_ come from a meeting with them? Why would she -

"You weren't going to show," he stated.

"Alfred called me an hour ago," Diana grinned. "I had to make the flimsiest excuses to my Mother. Obviously, she wasn't very happy."

"I look forward to the story," he expressed bemusedly.

"Tomorrow then, my dark knight," she whispered, her fingers grasping his hand that was still around her wrist. She squeezed it briefly, and made to leave, but he surprised her by bringing her hand up, ghosting his lips across her knuckles.

"'I'll be waiting, Princess."


End file.
